To Love And Be Loved
by dan4eva
Summary: ON TEMPORARY HIATUS What if the Potters didn't all die on that fateful night? James survives, Neville is hailed as the BWL, Harry is the youngest of two Potter boys, and a whole lot of Snapes....
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Okay, this is the first of the two stories i will allow you to preview. If you like this over the Erebus Riddle story, then go to my profile and vote for it. When the poll closes, the story with the highes votes wins and will be continued.

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine.

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**Prologue**

The little boy opened his eyes to find himself overlooking the most wondrous sight he'd ever seen. There were numerous tents of different colours standing erect on the lavish green grass, their flags waving merrily in the breeze. He could even see a couple of people taller than his Patri walking around while juggling balls in the air. Children that were mostly around his age were running in and out of the tents, looks of ecstasy and pure joy etched on their faces. And right in the middle of all these was the largest wheel he had ever seen in his life. It had red, blue, green and even yellow bubbles hanging from it as it went round and round and round. Even from where he was, he could hear shouts of joy and laughter.

Turning his attention to the man in which whose arms he was being carried, he gave a huge smile that made his green eyes twinkle. Upon seeing the toothy smile the child was giving him, the man smiled back in delight. Taking the hand of the light haired woman beside him, the three of them made their way down to the Annual Summer Festival.

Their first stop once they made it down from the Apparition point was the tent with brilliant green and orange stripes. The inside of the tent was magically transformed to mimic the environment of that of a Muggle Zoo. However the animals inside were far different from the ones found in Muggle zoos nor were the animals placed inside barbaric cages. As a matter of fact, the creatures that could do no harm were found roaming around the vicinity. But of course creatures that were far more aggressive had shields surrounding them, separating them from the many visitors.

A baby Niffler made its way towards them and the little boy in the man's arms begged to be lowered down. Once the little boy was on the ground, the Niffler nudged its wet nose on the boy's outstretched hands, making him squeal in delight. Bowtruckles could be seen guarding the nearest tree while Kneazles tentatively examined the bowl of milk that was placed before them. After the little boy's brief encounter with the Niffler, he started dragging both the man and the woman deeper into the enchanted tent.

The first creature they saw that was within a protective shield was a brown coloured Hippogriff that seemed to be dozing with its head on its legs. After the Hippogriff, the threesome then proceeded to the large tank on the other side of the tent that contained many deep sea creatures including a dozen or so snarling Gryndylows.

They stayed in the Creatures Tent until a fully grown Firecrab's flame nearly landed on the little boy. It took a couple of minutes to soothe the hysterical child and the tent attendants to give the child free stuffed animals as an apology. After that incident, they moved on to have their lunch inside a tent that served food in different colours. There was blue pumpkin juice, yellow spaghetti, purple steak and many more that seemed to take the earlier incident out of the little boy's mind.

But the highlight of the day was when they finally made it to the gigantic multi-coloured Ferris wheel that looked even bigger up close. The little boy craned his neck so as to see the top of the wheel but it seemed to stretch on to the heavens above.

"How high is it?" asked the boy, tugging at the light haired woman's dress. The woman bent down to the same level as the child and said in a friendly voice, "I don't know angel, I believe it goes as high as a little boy's imagination."

"That high!" exclaimed the toddler in awe, looking up at the wheel again. The woman took hold of the still staring boy and led him to the witch that was standing by the ticket booth. Once they were in line, the man lifted the boy in his arms again and they waited patiently (as patiently as an excited toddler could) for their turn in the ride.

"Are you ready kiddo?" the man asked, an amused look on his face.

The boy in his arms started jumping up and down in excitement and the man gave out a laugh at the toddler's antics, wondering how he managed to prevent the boy from falling from his arms. The line soon dwindled down and they were ushered inside a blue coloured bubble. A few minutes later, the little boy and the man found themselves climbing higher and higher until the people below them were nothing more than pinpricks on a sea of green. As the ride started to descend to the point where the people could now be distinguished, the boy stood on the man's lap and waved enthusiastically at the woman taking pictures of them.

The ride lasted for approximately three more full revolutions before coming to a full stop. The boy got out of the bubble they were in and ran towards the woman he had been waving at earlier. The woman released a soft 'oomph' as the little boy ran straight into her open arms.

"Mama, mama, did you see me?" asked the boy, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

The woman the placed a hand on the boy's small shoulders hoping, to no avail, to stop him from bouncing. "Yes I did angel. But then you went so high up, I lost sight of you."

"But... but…but did you… but did you see me waving?" The boy's constant bouncing was making both the man and woman laugh in amusement.

"Angel if you don't control yourself, Patri here will have to feed you one of his nasty potions," whispered the woman to the boy's ears.

That made the boy stop at once, pouting at the direction of the man, his hands placed on his hips, making him look much more like a spoiled prince. "Nwo poton!" the boy exclaimed, shaking his head.

The man mimed trying to uncork a potion vial and moved towards the boy whose eyes were now staring widely at him. The boy, shaking his head, made a dash to hide behind his '_mama_'.

"Nwo poton," cried the boy, his laughter muffled by the woman's dress.

"But there's a little boy here who has too much energy for his own good," said the man, trying to get to the boy. The woman laughed as the little boy revolved around her, using her as a shield to get away from his '_Patri_'.

"Nwo boy here. Nwo boy here!" shouted the boy.

"But I just saw him," said the man, following the boy.

"Nwo! Nwo boy!" The little boy released his hold on the woman's dress and ran from the man, his childish laughter ringing above all the noise in the festival.

"There he is," the man chased after the laughing boy and pretty soon he had him on his shoulders, carrying him as if he were a sack of potatoes.

The woman soon joined the two laughing boys, and they continued going around the festival until the sun set and the moon finally rose in the sky. By the time they arrived home, the little boy was perched on the man's arms sleeping peacefully. The man led his charge up several flights of steps and through a number of corridors before settling the young boy in a room that had a comfortable four poster bed in the shape of a miniature pirate ship. Tucking the boy into the warm folds of the blanket, he brushed a few stray hair from the boy's face and kissed his forehead before leaving the night light open.

He was about to get out of the room when a small, sleepy voice came from the boy he'd just tucked in. "Night, Patri. Night, Mama."

The man turned to look towards the door and found that the woman, his wife, was leaning on the doorframe. The woman walked into the room and gave the boy a goodnight kiss.

"Goodnight my angel, sweet dreams" she said softly, making the boy smile.

"Goodnight kiddo," said the man, now standing by the door, waiting for his wife to leave the room.

Once they were both gone, the boy opened his eyes and turned to his side. Today had been the happiest he'd ever been in his short life; he was with the people who loved him for who he was and he never wanted for it to end. No longer able to fight off the lull of sleep, the little boy of three closed his eyes and for the first time in a very long time, he had a good dream.

But shouldn't he have known then that sometimes, things were just too good to be true?

A couple of hours later, after the man had tucked the little boy, he entered the room that was right beside the child's room to find that his wife was already in her pyjamas, lying prop on their bed reading a book.

"He enjoyed this week, didn't he, love?" asked the woman, lowering her book to look at her husband.

"He did; we all did," replied the man, tossing his Muggle clothing on the floor which vanished before they could even reach the carpeted floor. Pulling on a pair of dark blue pyjamas, he joined his wife on the bed.

"How I wish we could do this to him everyday," said the woman sadly, curling into her husband's lean arms.

The man pulled his wife closer and kissed the top of her head. "I know love. He deserves so much more."

They stayed that way, snuggled up in each others' arms when loud knockings woke them up. The man bolted out of the bed immediately and reached out for his night robe. His wife, however, went to the next room to check on the young boy.

The man grabbed his wand from the bedside table and cautiously went down the stairs. Once he was in the hall, he heard someone shouting and knew immediately who had come to disturb them at such an ungodly hour. Bracing himself, he made his way to the front door.

"I know you've got him in there Snivellus! Give me back my son!" said the voice of James Potter.

"And why pray should I do that Potter? You've totally ruined our night," replied the snide voice of Severus Snape.

"I don't give a damn if you were shagging that woman of yours, but you give me back my son this instance!" boomed James' voice as he continued pounding on Severus' magically locked door.

"What if he doesn't want to go back to you?" said Severus angrily.

"GIVE HIM BACK TO ME BEFORE I BLAST YOUR BLASTED DOOR!" screamed James, his pounding on the door increasing with each word.

"James Richard Potter, you stop that racket this instance." ordered a voice from behind Severus. Severus turned around to find his wife of three years standing by the stairs looking extremely irate, holding a terrified looking boy in her arms. The boy, whose earlier clothes had been magically transformed into a pair of bottle green pyjamas that had little dragons flying on it, was clinging tightly onto the woman; burying his tear-strewed face into her neck.

"Penelope I have every right to make as much racket as I want to when someone kidnaps my son!" said James.

Penelope Snape marched to stand beside her husband, "And we have just as much right to take our godchild away from you when we feel that he's not being treated fairly!"

But before the Snapes could prepare themselves for what happened next, their front door was blasted into bits, sending shards of wood flying their way. Fortunately, Severus had managed to conjure a shield before the sharp pieces of wood could inflict more damage on them. Once the dust and rubble had settled down, James Potter appeared looking as if the whole world had somehow wronged him.

"And as an Auror, I have all the rights to raid a Death Eater's home." He stared maliciously at the two Snapes inside the shield.

"How dare you!" roared Severus, getting to his feet and pointed his wand straight at his rival's chest. A jet of red sparks erupted from his wand, sending James Potter flying across the floor.

James stood up and shook himself, striding towards his son who had fallen from Penelope's arms during the blasting of the door and was currently hiding behind the couch. He grabbed the little boy's hand before Severus or Penelope could react.

The boy screamed and tried to wriggle out of his father's strong grip. "No!" he cried. "Me no wana go!"

"Shut up, boy!" barked James, shaking his son vigorously.

"Let him go, James. You're hurting him." cried Penelope, moving towards father and son.

"You stay out of this Penelope!" said James, turning towards her. "I will never allow a Snape to touch a Potter."

"You should be a shamed of yourself Potter," snarled Severus, his wand still pointed towards James.

"Why should I be ashamed, _Snivellus_?" asked James. "It wasn't me who took a boy from his home when his family wasn't there."

"You know very well why we took him," said Severus coolly. "You're not fit to be his father."

"And what makes you think you two would be any better?" snapped James. "Last I heard you were still in contact with your Death Eater buddies."

"At least if we had a child, we wouldn't wait a week to go and look for him nor would we ever beat him up until he bleeds." Penelope retorted.

James' whole countenance darkened immediately and said, "What I do with my children is done of your business."

"Children?" asked Severus incredulously. "I doubt you've even laid a single finger on your arrogant son Joshua! The boy is so much like you."

"I believe it is only Harry who gets to be caned repeatedly just by looking the way he does or be subjected to various hexes that have lacerated his skin to the point that most of them would leave a permanent mark on the young boy's body!"

The whole room was filled with so much tension, you could have scooped it up with a spoon. James' eyes narrowed towards his former classmate and said with gritted teeth, "As I said before, Snivellus, what I do to my children in none of _your_ business."

He turned to leave, pulling a still struggling Harry when a soft gentle voice spoke up.

"Why are you doing this, James? Lily would never have wanted to see this being done upon her son," said Penelope taking a small step forward, changing her tact.

James spun around, a look of hatred etched on his youthful face. "Your Ravenclaw crap won't work on me, _Penny_. It might have for Snivellus there, but not me. And don't you dare talk like you know what Lily wanted for him"

"But I know she'd be heartbroken seeing the two people she loved the most acting like this," Penelope said calmly while Severus remained rigid at her side, wand at a ready in case James tried to do something stupid again.

"NWO! NWO! PATRI! Pwease," screamed Harry trying to reach for Severus' outstretched arm.

"It wasn't Harry's fault what happened to Lily," said Penelope, who was trying her hardest not to break down upon hearing the young boy's heart-wrenching pleas. "You can't blame an innocent child."

"I can blame who ever I want to blame!" growled James.

"And you think punishing your own son would make things all better?" she asked incredulously.

"It's his fault! His fault that his mother is now a vegetable in St. Mungo's because she was unable to protect herself! His fault that Lily nearly died giving birth to him! His fault that his brother will never know his mother! AND HIS FAULT I CAN NO LONGER TOUCH HER –" he screamed but Penelope had slapped him hard across the cheek before he could finish his tirade.

"How could you, James Potter? How could you blame your own son for the things that he had no control over? And all you think about is Joshua. What about Harry? Is he not your son too? Does he not deserve your concern that he cannot be with his mother as well?" uttered Penelope, you could see that she was trying her hardest not to lose her control while in the presence of the young boy.

"I don't have to explain myself to the two of you," said James after he got over the shock of being slapped by the former Ravenclaw, now the wife of his rival. He roughly hauled his youngest son off the ground and carried him out of the house.

"If you two ever come close to my family again, I will not hesitate to have you arrested! GODparents or not," threatened James, his wand pointed at the Snapes and heaving the flaying boy in his arms.

"Patri!" screamed Harry. "Me no wana go! PATRI! MAMA! Pwease…. No wana…."

Severus and Penelope watched helplessly as their beloved boy got carried away, back into the care of his abusive father. Penelope turned to her husband, falling into his arms and cried her heart out. It wouldn't be for a very long time until the Snapes got to see their godchild again. But right then they swore that if they ever got the chance to free the innocent boy from the life he was now living, they would no longer stand and watch, but they would fight till he was safe in their arms once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Here's the next chapter in the TLBL series, I hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer:** Plot mine. Characters... y- no... sadly...

**Chapter 1**

If one were to look at the manor house that was situated by the lake, the first thing that would come to mind would be that it was huge. To be exact, its grounds included three quarters of the lakeside while the manor itself was the size of two football fields and was three storeys high not including the basement, dungeon and attic. The entire building had been in that land for as long as the Muggle inhabitants of the village could remember. The people who lived in this manor house were quite recluse; rarely were they seen roaming around the village square mingling with the others. Stories of who were actually living in there were far and wide though none of them have yet to be proven. The only outward sign that someone was still living in the house was a little boy who could always be seen peeking out of a window on the third floor of the manor, looking all too lost and lonely. Occasionally the same boy could be seen wandering the grounds of the manor; though he had never stayed long for even before he could reach the banks of the lake, he would immediately dash back to manor, looking terrified as if he was about to receive a sound beating.

It was uncanny how close these Muggle stories were to the truth.

Harry Lilium Potter, the youngest son of the renowned Auror, James Potter, was a skinny little boy with bright green eyes. However, unlike his older brother Joshua, who was a splitting image of their father, Harry was more of a perfect blend of both his mother and father, though it was quite obvious that Lily's features were more evident on the young child.

Having the last name of a prominent Light Family, one would immediately jump to the conclusion that this little boy was the happiest little boy you'd find anywhere else and the fact that his family was close with the Boy-Who-Lived would instantly make him a celebrity in the Wizarding World. However, the boy was far from happy; him being the saddest boy in the village would be a more accurate description than the previous one. And the assumption that he would be famous for being the boy who nearly became the Boy-Who-Lived was a lie. As a matter of fact, Harry Lilium Potter was only known to those who've actually seen him. It was not that he didn't like to socialize; in fact he longed for someone to be able to talk to without being snapped at or shouted at. It was more because his father refused to let him out of the house. He had no idea why his father would want to confine him in the vast manor, but he knew better than to question the man.

A memory of his father coming home drunk late one night when he was five would always prove to be a vivid reminder to him that asking questions in the Potter household was definitely taboo. But he knew that rule only applied to him. For years he'd tried to understand why his father acted the way he did. Why the man favoured his eldest son more than his youngest. Or why he could never do anything to please the man.

When he was younger he thought he knew the answer to these questions. It was a stormy night and he was scared to death of the flashes of lighting and the roaring thunder that came from outside his window. Next thing he knew the door to his bedroom had opened causing him to hide underneath his blanket. Then he felt hands tugging at his blanket, pulling it down until it was below his chin. The person he saw sitting beside him on his bed surprised him more than the opening of his door. His father was looking at him in the same way he looked at his brother when he was scared. It was a look of concern he was not accustomed to receiving from the man.

"Hush, my child," he had whispered softly, brushing the stray hairs on his face. "The storm will be over soon."

Having been denied this kind of affectionate touch from his father, Harry immediately leaned in to the touch, hoping that his father had finally accepted him. "You look so much like her you know," he said in the same soft voice quite unlike the tone he usually used on him.

Harry looked at his father in confusion, not understanding what he had said. "You have your mother's eyes," replied James to his son's confused look. Giving him one last gentle touch on the cheek, his father left his room and he fell asleep for the first time not dreading what tomorrow would bring.

He had woken up the next day with a brilliant plan to make his father happy. He'd scoured their entire manor hoping to find pictures of the mother he hardly remembered. Once his father had arrived from the Ministry, he'd run straight from his room to greet him and presented to him the pictures he'd been able to find. But instead of his father being happy like he thought he would when he showed the pictures to him, the older Potter had grabbed his arm in a painful vise and spoke to him in the most dangerous voice he'd ever heard.

"Don't you dare look for these pictures again," he had said in a voice harder than rock. Harry tried to ignore the pain his father's hold was giving him and nodded timidly, mumbling his apologies as he did so.

"You have no right to even look at her with those eyes. You don't even deserve to have her eyes," he growled, tightening his grip causing his son to whimper in pain. "Get out of my sight." He had pushed the boy roughly, not caring what kind of injury he had now inflicted on him, and walked out of the room, leaving a battered child behind.

Since that day, Harry learned never to go looking for pictures of his mother or ask about her again. However a part of him, to this day, still longed for the man who had come to his room during the stormy night. The man who had looked at him with concern in his eyes; the man who, even for just a moment, had shown him that he was loved.

Harry was at present reading in the family library, a thick book lying open on his lap. He loved going there since both his father and brother never did fancy reading which meant that this was one of the few places in the manor he could actually stay in without being given dirty looks. He could sit there all day and read through the many books that were stocked in the shelves that reached all the way up to the ceiling. He'd always wondered what a library such as this was doing in their manor since neither his father nor brother liked to read. The room could always calm him down as if a comforting presence was keeping him safe.

Today he was reading through one of the many Potions texts that could be found in the library. He loved Potions better than anything he'd ever read about and it didn't hurt that the manor had a fully stocked Potions' lab that his father never entered. On days when he'd rather forget what was going on, he would either retreat to his two most favourite rooms in the manor, the library and the potions lab, where he could get lost in the books or get so caught up in one of his experiments that he could easily forget how his life wasn't all that great.

He was so engrossed in what he was reading that he failed to notice a house-elf appearing before him until the creature tapped him on the leg.

"Young Master Harry sir, your father and Young Master Joshua have arrived," the house-elf announced.

"Thank you, Pimpy," said Harry, smiling at the elf. Pimpy was his favourite house elf because she was always there for him when he needed her. In fact it was she who had cared for him when he was only a baby and they both shared a connection unlike that of master and his servant. Whenever his father got into one of his moods, she would always be there to stop him in time before anything seriously damaging was done. She would always get punished by his father for disobeying him but she had said over and over again that as long as she was in the manor, she didn't mind having to iron her hands if it meant Harry wouldn't have to suffer his father's hands. She was like the mother he never had and he loved her for that.

Harry stood from where he was sitting and placed the book back on the shelf. His father had treated his brother to a trip to Italy for his twelfth birthday and it seemed that they'd finally come home after two weeks. He buried the feeling of jealousy towards his brother knowing that showing that kind of emotion would do nothing but bad to him.

Walking back to his room, his earlier good mood at having read something new in Potions now gone, Harry tried not to think of the times his family had completely ignored his birthday but with every step he was finding it too hard to do so. Every year as far back as he could remember, his brother Joshua had always celebrated his birthday by having a grand birthday party out on the grounds by the lake while he, Harry, had to remain in his room and watch the merriment from his bedroom window. This year, however, his brother told their father that he was getting too old for parties and begged the older man for a trip out of the country.

Seeing as Harry had never been anywhere outside the protective shields of the manor, he hoped that his father would let him accompany them. But his father refused, telling him that two tickets were expensive enough let alone buying three. He of course wanted to believe his father's words but it was quite hard to fathom that his father would find it hard to get another ticket considering the size of their Gringotts vault. Though he'd never actually been in the vault to see how big it really was, he'd read about how far back his family went and that must mean that their vault was very big indeed. So instead, he had to stay all alone at home for weeks, spending all his time reading up on Potion ingredients and methods, not knowing when they would return.

"Don't think about this," he said to himself frowning. "Thinking about it doesn't make anything any better." But no matter how many times he reminded himself that, he would always find himself thinking of it the next day.

He was still deep in his own thoughts when he bumped into someone wearing a black and white shirt with a red scarf tied around his neck.

"Do you like it?" asked his brother Joshua, fanning out his arms and turning around for his brother to see his clothes properly.

"What is that supposed to be?" asked Harry, looking at his brother's weird attire in mild confusion.

"I'd have thought that with all the time you spend cooped up in the library, you'd have at least read about it," said Joshua teasingly.

Harry stared at his brother and said, "I don't read about Muggle clothing."

"Yes, yes, how could I have forgotten? All you read about is how to bottle fame and brew glory." His brother continued in the same teasing voice, "I think you and Snape would get along just fine."

"Who's Snape?" asked Harry, ignoring his brother's comments on Potions.

"You'll meet him this year. He's Hogwarts' Potions Master and a downright greasy git," said Joshua crossly.

"He's probably just like that because you're in the room," quipped Harry, making a move to get back to his room.

"Hey!" his brother screamed at his back once he'd figured out what Harry had said. "And for your information, this happens to be a Gondola driver's costume."

Harry stopped at his tracks and turned to look at his brother who was grinning from ear to ear. "You guys went to Venice?" he asked in a small voice.

"Yup. It was so fantastic, Harry. There were practically no roads and everyone had to travel using these long Muggle boats called gondolas."

Joshua saw the look on his brother's face and immediately regretted what he'd said. "Look, Harry, I tried asking dad whether you could come along with us. But you know how he gets…" He left the sentence hanging, hoping that his little brother would understand.

Harry turned back to his earlier direction at that and mumbled sadly under his breath, "Yeah, Josh, I know how dad gets…"

Once he was back in his room, Harry flopped down on his bed and closed his eyes tightly to stop the flow of tears that he knew had been threatening to come upon seeing his brother so happy. Why couldn't he ever be that happy? Was there something horribly wrong with him that made it hard for their father to care for him the same way he cared for his brother?

He stayed that way until he'd managed to calm down enough for him to get his emotions in check again and by the time he'd gone up from his bed, the sun had already set, streaming his bed with orange light. Knowing that his father would be upset if he didn't at least show up for dinner, Harry hesitantly made his way to the dining room.

By the time he'd gotten there, both his brother and father were already seated and seemed to be engaged in a conversation pertaining their holiday. Harry walked towards his customary seat in the dinning table, four seats away from his father, and waited for his meal to appear before him, making sure not to make any noise that would get his father started on him.

After a while he felt that someone was watching him eat. Fearing that it was his father, he lowered his head even closer to the table so that his nose nearly touched his plate. But when the feeling wouldn't stop, he tentatively lifted his head and saw to his relief that it had been Joshua who was watching him and when he saw that his brother had finally looked up, he smiled, making Harry smile back in return.

Unfortunately, their father used that precise moment to look up, catching briefly his youngest son's eye before Harry quickly lowered his eyes, hoping that his father had not seen him. But the thing is, sometimes when you really don't want something to happen, it has the uncanny ability to do exactly the opposite, and this was no exception.

"What have you been doing while we were away, boy?" James barked from across the table.

Harry, who was trying to look at anything but his father's direction, answered in a timid voice. "I have been reading, sir."

"Reading," said his father in a voice that told him that he did not believe a word he'd said.

"Yes, sir, reading," replied Harry hoping he would get luck tonight.

"I see," came his father's calm voice which for him was never a good sign. "So you mean to tell me that while we were away, all you did was read?"

Harry's stomach was starting to churn and it was not due to hunger. "Yes, sir."

"I see," his father repeated, turning his gaze back to his cooling dinner. Harry held his breath, waiting for his father to say whatever it was he wanted to 'say' to him. But when it seemed that his father had dropped the subject in favour of eating his meal, he breathed a sigh of relief.

After that, the meal passed in silence with his brother making a few comments every now and then. With his plate having vanished in thin air, Harry excused himself from the table and started to move towards the door when he heard his father's voice.

"Meet me at my study in an hour," said his father, his voice neutral. Harry's breath caught and he stared wide eyed at his brother, hoping that the older boy would help him out. But Joshua seemed determined to keep his eyes averted from where Harry was and was taking an interest into boring a hole through the wall.

Harry swallowed; he knew he was alone, he always was. "Yes, sir," he answered, keeping his voice even.

The hour-long wait was excruciating; Harry paced around his room trying not to think of what his father would do this time around. By the time the dreaded hour was only a few minutes away, Harry was a bag of nerves and any unsuspecting noise would send him into a mild panic. If he'd had time he would have run to the lab and grabbed a couple of Calming Draughts to ease his nerves but his father had a knack of finding out whatever it was he had been doing. For a man who showed blatant favouritism towards his first born, the man was surprisingly determined to know whatever his other son was doing.

He stood before his father's study five minutes early and knocked softly on the wooden door.

"Enter," he heard his father's curt voice.

Harry turned the knob and braced himself for the unexpected that was his father. The study, like the rest of the manor was richly decorated in red and gold.

"Close it," said his father, not even looking up from the stack of parchments he was reading. Never wanting to be alone in the same room with his father, he reluctantly closed the door. He stood by the closed door and waited for his father to finish whatever it was he was reading. He knew his father was prolonging things on purpose and wished that he'd just get to what he wanted to this evening; he hated having to wait for his fate because often he never could figure out why he deserved it in the first place.

At last his father dropped the last of the parchments and lifted his head to look at his youngest son. "Sit," he said, still preferring to use as little amount of words as possible.

Harry took the offered seat and stared down at the floor; his father hated it when he looked at him with his green eyes, eyes that he said should never have been his in the first place.

James surveyed his last born, chin firmly resting on his interlocked fingers. Some would say that with this gesture, the man looked just like Albus Dumbledore. However there were major differences in the look; with Dumbledore, there would be a mad twinkling in his light blue eyes but with James Potter, his hazel eyes held nothing but cold aversion towards his son.

"I have given you enough time during dinner to explain yourself," he began in the same neutral voice he'd used earlier.

Harry's terrified expression turned into that of confusion though his father did not see it since he was still looking at the floor. He had no idea what his father was talking about. He had followed all of the man's rules no matter how unreasonable they were; he had followed them.

He dared to lift his head a bit to find that his father was staring intently at him. "I don't know what you mean, sir." he said in a small voice.

"You don't know?" said his father incredulously, his calm features contorting to anger.

Harry's head snap back down immediately and mumbled. "No, sir,"

"Tell me, boy! What did I tell you before your brother and I went away?"

"Y… y… you to… told me t… to… b… behave," he couldn't help but stutter the answer.

"Yes. And did you behave?" asked James.

"Yes, sir," said Harry forcefully, trying to make his father believe him.

James stood from his leather armchair and paced the room, hand clasped behind his back. "You do know I hate being lied to, don't you?"

"Sir…" mumbled a terrified Harry, not knowing what he'd done this time to incur his father's wrath.

"You still don't know what I'm talking about, boy?" snapped James, moving towards his son so fast that Harry recoiled backwards in his seat.

Harry shook his head, not trusting his voice to speak without breaking.

"How many times have I told you not to leave the house?" growled his father. Harry stared at his father for a while before understanding dawned on his face, and his eyes widened in fear.

He had been reading in the library a few days after his father and brother left for Italy when a gust of wind came from the opened window, blowing away some of the parchments that were folded within the book he was reading. Fearing that the precious papers would land on the lake outside, ruining them, he had dashed out of the manor to retrieve them. He had thought nothing of it at first considering he hadn't really left the manor but now he'd come to think of it, he should have known his father would make a big deal out of it. He always did.

"Father, please…" cried Harry, begging his father.

"What have I told you about calling me that?" James had moved so quickly that Harry never saw his father's firm hand flying to grip his jaw and pulling his face towards him so that they were only inches from each other.

His father's grip on his jaw was so painful that it wouldn't be surprising that he'd have a bruise on his face tomorrow. "What have I told you, boy!" repeated James when Harry failed to answer him the first time.

"You told me not to, sir," whimpered Harry.

James glared at his son for good measure before releasing his hold on his jaw. Harry tried not to rub his hand on his painful jaw and waited anxiously for whatever punishment his father would give him tonight. He just hoped it wasn't what he thought it would be.

His father retuned to his seat across from him and the silence that stretched between them was agonizing. When James finally spoke, he spoke in a tone that Harry had heard only once in his life; during that horrible thunderstorm.

"Do you think I take pleasure in doing this to you?" asked James, looking at his son who was clearly shaking in fear.

Harry dared not raise his hopes; this was one of the ways his father would punish him, luring him into a false sense of security before giving out a punishment worse than the last one.

"Do you not think it pains my heart when I cannot even keep my son in line?" continued James. But just as fast as his expression changed, it returned to its earlier detachment.

"Pull off your shirt," he ordered, leaning back on his brown leather armchair.

Harry's eyes widened and looked disbelievingly at his father who was still looking indifferently at him.

"Don't make me repeat myself, boy! NOW!"

He could barely stop his hands from shaking now as he slowly pulled off his shirt and placed it on the seat he had sat on.

James opened one of the desk drawers and retrieved what seemed to be an old battered rattan whip. "Turn around,"

"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again. Please," begged Harry. His wounds had yet to recover from his previous whipping and now his father would be doing it again.

James ignored his son's pleas and moved to turn his son around. He didn't even flinch when he saw the countless lacerations that his son had acquired over the years, many of which were still oozing blood.

When the whip first made contact with his raw back, Harry bit back a scream as some of his wounds opened up again. But as his father continued to land hit after hit, each having more force than the last one, he couldn't hold it back anymore and cried out in agony.

"Please, sir…" he cried continuously, trying in vain to sway his father. He knew pleading with the man was useless but he'd always hoped that perhaps there would come a day when his father would finally listen to his cries.

"This pains me just as much as it pains you," said James, delivering yet another forceful lashing. But before it could come into contact with the boy's bloody back, a small wrinkly hand made a grab for the whip.

"Pimpy!" he heard his father scream. "What have I told you about coming in here when I am disciplining my sons?"

"Master James sir needs his rest," said the elf coolly, eyeing his master. "Yous had an exhausting journey and must take your rest. Pimpy will take Young Master Harry back to his room now."

James glared coldly at the elf before reluctantly pulling the bloodied whip from the creature's hands. Stowing the "Disciplinarian" as his father affectionately called the tool, James left the elf and his son to their own devices.

Harry crumbled down on the carpeted floor once he heard the door snap to a close and cried like the battered child that he was. Pulling his knees closer to his chest, he rocked himself backwards and forwards, trying to lose himself in his miserable existence.

Pimpy watched helplessly as her young master cried himself out to exhaustion. She knew better than to approach the hysterical child now when he was still reeling from the beatings. It took an hour and a half but when she was sure that the boy was calm enough to allow her touch, she didn't hesitate to comfort the wounded child.

"Hush, young master," she whispered to his ears, trying not to touch his back. "No use crying over it now." Even though she was a mere house-elf, she knew that what her master was doing was wrong. Not even goblins disciplined their young in such a barbaric manner and that was saying something, since house-elves and goblins rarely saw eye to eye. But what could she do about it other than try to limit the damage inflicted on the boy? She was only a house-elf after all, who would believe her that the great James Potter was such a hardened man?

It took a great amount of persuasion before Pimpy finally managed to Apparate her young master to his room. Harry was still completely out of it when Pimpy Apparated him to his room and didn't even realize it when she deposited him on his bed and slowly started applying salve on his injured back.

"Drink this, Young Master Harry," crooned the elf to the distressed child. "It will help ease the pain."

Harry turned blood shot eyes towards the elf and took the offered vial. He knew this potion; he had brewed it himself just days ago. Mumbling a heart-felt thank you to the elf, which Pimpy promptly brushed off, Harry pulled the blankets over his thin frame and curled up tightly into a ball, a position Pimpy knew her young master placed himself in every single night. She made sure that the boy was resting soundly before leaving to tend to her other chores and perhaps receive yet another lecture about disobeying her superior.

It was probably late at night already when Harry felt someone staring at him. Opening one bleary eye, he saw that his brother was sitting on the edge of his bed. Upon seeing his brother stir, Joshua stiffened; he didn't know what to say now that his brother was actually awake.

"Harry…" he began awkwardly.

"Yeah, Josh," mumbled Harry, turning to his side to get a better view of his brother.

"Er, about earlier…" Joshua looked at his brother's eyes which were still swollen due to crying and felt very uncomfortable.

"It's okay, Josh," said Harry, figuring out what his brother was trying to say.

Joshua's eyes lit up at his brother's words and said quietly so as not to wake their father, "So you're not mad at me?"

"No, Josh. I'm not mad," Harry said throatily, his throat still sore from all the crying he'd done.

"Phew. I thought for a moment there that you were mad at me," exclaimed Joshua, his earlier disposition forgotten. "You know I would have helped you but you know how dad gets…" Joshua trailed off, getting off the bed to return to his own room.

Harry had a faraway look on his face and stared at the canopy of his bed. "Yeah, Josh, I know how dad gets…"

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A/N: I don't know when I'll next be able to update this story since this one is harder than the other two stories I'm working on since this story deals more with abuse. But do put this story in your alert list, I will not abandon this. I have yet to abandon my works and i will not start now...

read and review...

'til next post

**_dan4eva_**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Here it is the next chapter. Sorry for the late reply...

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine.

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**Chapter 2 **

The next few weeks of summer holiday passed by in a hurried blur for Harry, receiving only five more 'punishments' from his father, though fortunately none of them left him unable to bend for a week. He was actually grateful that this summer was turning out better than the last one. Now with July coming to an end, Harry's birthday was only days away and that meant he would be receiving his first Hogwarts letter anytime soon.

Ever since his brother returned from school after his first year, he'd heard nothing but Hogwarts this and Hogwarts that, and now that he was finally getting his turn, he could hardly wait much longer. With that considerably pleasant thought in mind, Harry's day started well enough compared to other mornings in the Potter Manor.

He was on his way to the dinning room to have breakfast when Pimpy appeared before him, halting his descent. "Master Harry sir, yous father is having guest over and wants Young Master to have his meal back in his own room." While the elf said this, it was obvious with the way she looked that she disapproved of her orders.

Harry wondered who his father's guests were. As far as he knew, they weren't expecting anyone other than his Uncle Siri and Uncle Remy; they were the only ones that he was allowed to interact with without having to be told to do otherwise.

"Who is it?" Harry asked the elf.

"Pimpy sees that it was Mr and Mrs Longbottom and their son," replied the house-elf.

Harry frowned. His brother may be close to Neville, the Potters and Longbottoms having been close friends throughout the years, but that didn't mean he had to like the chubby boy as well. If truth be told, he would gladly lock himself up in the library whenever the boy came for a visit, which unfortunately was very often. But he knew his brother would always drag him out and that he, Harry, would always be kicking and screaming whenever he did so. It could be said that he was an introverted person who would rather be by himself considering the only contact he got came from his father's 'care'. He wasn't used to attention, though he unknowingly craved for it deep down, any depraved child would.

But probably the main reason why he really disliked being around the other boy so much was the fact that the boy was an extremely conceited git. Just because he was labelled by the wizarding world as the bloody Boy-Who-Lived didn't give him the right to be mean to him all the time. There were numerous of times when he would just love to tell Neville _dearest_ that he wasn't the only one and that he, Harry, had been there as well and that he had survived that night just as he had. But of course he'd never have the guts to tell that to dear Neville, he was after all his father's godson, far more important - Harry was constantly reminded - and furthermore, his father hated being reminded of what had happened that fateful Halloween night just as much as he hated having to see his youngest son's green eyes.

"Pimpy has served Young Master's breakfast in his room and Young Master should go back now before it gets cold," said Pimpy in an ordering voice that made Harry smile.

"Yes, Pimpy. Thank you," said Harry as he trudged back up the stairs.

After his solitary meal, Harry made a beeline to get to the library hoping to avoid his brother and Neville once they were done with their meal. He had spent a good majority of the morning reading up on one of his latest Potions experiments and was pleased with himself for having been able to elude both his brother and Neville. By noon he had left the confines of the library and was to be found stirring a cauldron twice his size, preparing to give his new experiment a try when the dungeon doors opened to reveal the person he'd been trying to avoid all morning enter his private haunt.

"So this is where you hide your hind whenever I come for a visit," came Neville's voice as he entered the high-ceilinged, dark room.

"Nice to see you too, Neville," said Harry dryly not bothering to look up from his cauldron.

Neville looked around the room he'd never been to with an uncharacteristic sneer on his chubby face. "You like coming here?" he asked, staring at the vials of ingredients by the shelves, most of which contained substances there were squiggling and wriggling about.

"Yes, Neville, because I, unlike you, do not spend all my time stuffing magazines on my face trying to read what the people think of the Boy-Who-Lived," said Harry, still determined not look up from what he was doing.

Neville stood still at first at Harry's comment but when he finally realized that he had just been insulted, he marched forward until he was too close for safety of the bubbling cauldron.

"What did you just say, Potter?"

This time Harry did look up with a raised brow to watch the annoyance flitting through the other boy's plump face. "You'd better not say that in front of father. He might think you're being obnoxiously rude."

"You know bloody well who I'm referring to," growled Neville.

"No, I don't, Neville. There are three people with the name Potter in this house. You could either be referring to father, Joshua or me, so you'd better make yourself clear."

Neville smirked and said, "I was talking about you, Harry … _the unwanted child_."

Harry eyes widened, "Take that back, Neville!"

"Why should I? It is true." gloated Neville. "Uncle James prefers me over you."

"Take it back!" shouted Harry, his bubbling potion forgotten.

"Hurts, doesn't it? The truth?"

Harry was all prepared to dunk Neville's fat head into the boiling cauldron and forever rid himself of his arrogance when the dungeon door opened the second time, admitting a grinning Joshua.

"Hey, there you two are. I've been looking for you for ages." said Joshua, oblivious to the loathing looks the two other boys where giving each other.

Neville seem to come to himself in the presence of the older boy, and his face was all smiles again. "Sorry 'bout that, Josh; I was just looking for Harry. It's been ages since we last saw each other."

"Oh, well in that case, do you guys want to go outside? Uncle Siri wants to hold a pickup Quidditch game," said Joshua, not bothering to enter the dark spaces of the lab.

"Er … sure. I'll … I'll just ask dad to get my broom," replied Neville nervously before exiting the Potions Lab, leaving the two brothers behind.

Once Neville was out of the room, Joshua finally entered the lab and walked straight to his brother. He noticed that Harry was unusually pale and was staring at his cauldron but not registering that its contents were bubbling ominously. He was no brewer unlike his brother, but he had had one too many experiences with exploding cauldrons during his last year to know that this was on the brink of exploding on his brother's pale face.

"Harry," cried Joshua, snapping his fingers in front of his brother to get his attention. "Harry!"

Harry jolted from his reverie and panted as if he'd just ran a marathon, staring at his surroundings with a confused glazed in his eyes. It was only when he saw his brother's worried expression did he remember where he was.

"Are you okay, Har?" asked his brother.

"Yeah … yeah. I'm fine. Crap," said Harry, who, finally realizing that his potion was ruined, tossed a neutralizer into the vat of viscous substance.

Joshua sighed in relief that the potion was no longer going to explode on them, "So are you coming?"

"Coming where?" asked Harry, clearing up his work station and labelling today's experiment as a failure, trying to get his mind off the earlier conversations.

"Quidditch, of course. Uncle Siri is starting a pickup game by the lake," said Joshua, grinning broadly.

"I think I'll pass, Josh. I'm not up for a game today."

"Are you sure you're fine?" pressed his brother.

"Yes, Josh. I just don't want to play." _Father will disapprove_ was left unsaid.

"Alright then. We'll be outside if you need anything." Josh smiled, practically running out of the lab, eager to get back on his broom.

Harry sagged down on his stool; he couldn't believe how much Neville knew about his life when he's tried so hard to hide it whenever they were having company. Was Neville really able to read him that easily or did he just make a lucky guess? No matter which it was, the confrontation completely caught him off guard and shook him to the core; he definitely had to do better once he got to Hogwarts.

_**sSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSs**_

The morning of Harry's birthday came the same way it had come for the past ten years, unacknowledged and insignificant. However there was something special today as he would finally be getting his hands on his Hogwarts letter, something he'd been waiting for months.

"Pimpy wishes to wish Young Master Harry a Happy Birthday!" cried the elf, Apparating into his room and carrying a plate of her usual birthday cake especially made for him.

"Thanks, Pimpy," said Harry, getting out of his bed and rubbing the grit out of his eyes.

"Young Master should be getting ready soon, it is almost time for breakfast," piped Pimpy, placing her burden on her master's desk.

"There's no need to rush, Pimpy," replied Harry, sitting on the side of his bed.

"Today is Young Master's birthday and Pimpy has prepared all of Young Master's favourite meals." The house-elf was literally bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement.

"You didn't have to, Pimpy," said Harry with a slight tone of displeasure in his voice.

Pimpy ignored the tone and continued with her ludicrous bouncing, "Pimpy must. Young Master is turning eleven today and would finally be of age to go to Hogwarts, 'tis a very special day."

_It would be even more so if he at least tries to remember_, thought Harry sadly, but to the elf he said, "Okay, Pimpy, since you made it, I'll go and get ready."

Pimpy beamed happily at him before Disapparating with a loud pop.

Harry headed for the bathroom connected to his room and got his daily morning rituals out of the way. After he had dressed himself in robes his father would not criticize him with, he got back to his room to make sure he was prepared to face this one day in the year when his father would be even more so critical.

"Happy Birthday, Harry Lilium Potter," he said to his reflection in the mirror, trying to cheer himself up for the long day ahead. His reflection merely smiled sadly back at him, an eerily accurate representation of what he truly felt, and he was off to have breakfast.

By the time he reached the doors that led to the Manor's dinning area, he could already hear his father's voice and he didn't sound very happy. Harry braced himself for the words his father would definitely lash out on him since he knew very well that if anytime his father was already there and he was not, he was late. And it didn't matter whether it was still too early, if his father was already up, then he should have been up an hour earlier. However before he could push the doors open, he heard his father shouting, calling out their house-elf.

"Pimpy!" he heard James Potter cry.

Harry heard a loud pop and knew that the house-elf was now in the company of his father, all alone, never a good thing.

"Yes, sir," came the firm squeak of the elf.

"Tell me why you have prepared all this food in the table? Are we having a party that I'm not aware of?"

"No, Master Potter, sir. But today is Young Master's eleventh birthday and Pimpy thought that it would be good if Young Master is served his favourite meal."

Silence followed the house-elf's words and Harry prayed, prayed that his father would acknowledge his birthday, just this once.

"Joshua and I are going out with the Longbottoms to a Quidditch match today to celebrate Neville's birthday and we will not have time to finish all of these. I want you to clear this all at once. How many times have I told about not wasting food for no apparent reason? You are not to this again, do you hear me?"

Harry's heart sank so low then that he didn't hear Pimpy's defiant protest but he did flinch unconsciously at the sound of something colliding heavily on the stone floor. He couldn't go inside looking like this, therefore he did the one thing he knew he knew best – he ran, furiously wiping the hot tears that were rolling down his pale cheeks. He swore to himself long ago that his father's words would not hurt him anymore and that he would not cry. Crying never did save him from his wretched life. Crying never did stop his father from landing blow after blow on his frail body. And crying never did bring back his mother so as to stop his father. Crying was useless. Crying was for the weak and he vowed never to show weakness again.

But why was it that his father's words could still pain him like this after all these years? He should have gotten used to it by now, but why was he still crying? Why couldn't he stop? Was there something adversely terrible hanging on his head that his own father would treat him as such? For once couldn't his father just see beyond his veiled eyes and find a lost little boy who craved nothing more than his father's love?

He was running through the halls of their Manor, not knowing where his feet were leading him, just as long as they took him far away from anyone as possible, unknown to him that slowly a piece of himself was dying.

_**sSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSs**_

The Hogwarts acceptance letter was held tightly in his hands; it had arrived by owl shortly after his father and brother left for the Quidditch game with the Longbottoms and the enthusiastic smile that should be on his face as he read through the letter was absent. Here it was the missive that would free him from his father's hold and scrutiny. For a long time now he's imagined that when this day came, his parents and brother would be behind him, smiling proudly at him. Yet here he was now, sitting all alone in an empty Manor with no one to share the most important milestone in his young life. He wasn't sad because he really didn't have much energy left from this morning to feel anything else.

But in the instance that he did have energy to spare for any emotions, the apt emotion that he would be feeling would be termed 'hollow'. He no longer expected anything overtly familial from his family. He was now alone, he knew that now. He loved his brother dearly but he knew Joshua was too scared of their father to actually disobey the man and Uncle Siri and Uncle Remy would just play blind on the things his father did so as not to cause a problem.

He was on his own.

Folding the letter back into its envelope, Harry proceeded to the lab to clear his head and to get a start on that potion Neville ruined before he got to Hogwarts and became too busy for his favourite relaxation. As he walked through the silent halls of Potter Manor, he ignored the sudden dull ache that sprang from his 'hollowed' chest.

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**A/N: **Hang in there, I'll try to get the next chapter out as fast as i can...

_**dan4eva**_

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